VOLUME | ONC 2023

6. True North

Harriet...

I was named after Harriet Tubman.

The great rectifier, the conductor of the Underground Railroad. The Moses of my people.

Through my grandmother's prodding, my mother finally succumbed to the conviction of her mother. Like the free spirit she was, she had wanted to name me Wonder. My grandmother doth protested, saying that the wonder was that I would lead us true North.

Spurred on by her father's teachings about the North star, Harriet "Moses" Tubman led more than 300 slaves to freedom – an unprecedented number for the time, for her age, for her gender, and for her race.

Like an astronomer of the heart, a scientist of freedom, she depended on her faith and that unrelenting twinkle set against an inky black sky.

It was the recounting of this story that had been told to me time and time again that ran rampant in my mind. It was this very thought that propelled me northward toward a town I knew scant about to uncover a truth I only understood in part.

Both hands maneuvering the steering wheel, I was following my own drinking gourd. The major thoroughfare had turned into a minor highway. Lush trees, fields, rolling hills, and mountains disrupted a clean horizon. Set so far back from the road, the farmhouses looked tiny against a vast landscape.

There was no address out front, but I'd counted the homes, figuring it had to be one of them.

I crunched onto the gravel in my mom's old peach and white VW Beetle, with its thick, hot beige leather seats. It didn't go very fast, but my heart was attached to this vintage automobile; it was the vehicle I grew up in.

Inhaling, I knocked on the door, the dry heat tickling my senses.

"Hi, how can I help you?" A young woman came to the door, opening it wide like she wasn't worried about any intrusion. She couldn't have been older than me with a plain t-shirt on and faded jeans.

"Hi, my name is Harriet. I called a few days ago about Miss Charlotte?"

Realization set in her eyes.

"Ah, yes. I'm Makenna–"

"Lizzie, is that you? Oh, goodness. Be a dear and let her in. Let her in here so I can get a good look at her. It's been so long," I could hear the sprightly voice of an older woman.

Makenna smirked, "Grandma, you can't just go hollering at strangers –"

"She's no stranger! Oh, Lizzie, please come in – you haven't aged a day, have you?"

Back turned toward her grandma, we exchanged empathetic looks.

She pressed her backside into the door, widening its opening for my entry.

"Oh, Lizzie, I've missed you somethin' fierce. How long has it been?" Her eyes squinted as her gaze fixed on the floor, searching for the answer, "I guess it doesn't matter. Come here, sweet girl. Give me a hug."

The woman who'd mistaken me for my grandmother was a frail, weathered version of the woman I'd seen in the photos, but her crushing strength surprised me as I reached down to embrace her.

"Lizzie and Lotty. Thick as thieves, weren't we?" With bony fingers, she patted my cheek.

I nodded at the smiling woman, her eyes glassy and far away. I had intended to tell her of my grandmother's passing, but those plans had been dashed and slashed.

"Sit, sit," she shooed me toward the couch opposite her rocking chair. The burnt orange sofa had, no doubt, traveled through time from the seventies. It was in remarkable condition, nonetheless. Makenna sat at the opposite end, looking between Lotty and me with curiosity.